“Why,” he exclaimed immediately, giving me a cordial grasp of the hand “of course. The strategist, the John Law, the reader of character of Colonel Clark's army. Yes, and worse, the prophet, Mr. Ritchie.”
“And why worse, sir?” I asked.
“You predicted that Congress would never repay me for the little loan I advanced to your Colonel.”
“It was not such a little loan, Monsieur,” I said.
“N'importe,” said he; “I went to Richmond with my box of scrip and promissory notes, but I was not ill repaid. If I did not get my money, I acquired, at least, a host of distinguished acquaintances. But, Mr. Ritchie, you must introduce me to your friend.”
“My cousin, Mr. Nicholas Temple,” I said.
Monsieur Gratiot looked at him fixedly.
“Of the Charlestown Temples?” he asked, and a sudden vague fear seized me.
“Yes,” said Nick, “there was once a family of that name.”
“And now?” said Monsieur Gratiot, puzzled.